December 30, 2009 | 6:55am
I've never really been opposed to public displays of affection (PDA), but I gotta say, there's
definitely a time and a place for it. And, on this particular Friday night, after my boyfriend and I got into our first major blowout -- yes, it was all my fault (more on that later) -- I didn't feel like watching the McSmoochertons go at it at the next table while we cooled down waiting for dinner at Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza.
As a matter of fact, we actually decided spending time inside the resto was a better option than just getting a box and bag to go because we needed time to reconnect. The sources of our disagreement lay in the
center of my living room, and getting away was perceived as the best option.
Anthony's is a cozy place, not unlike a living room, just with more
furniture. And we always had a affinity for the pizza there, because we
both like our pies a bit on the crispy side with cheese that tends to
stay connected to the metal plate in defiance, even after a slice gets
By the time we settled into our seats, ordered up a few drinks and received our gorgonzola-laden salad, we were ready to resolve our issue with clear heads. In a nutshell, I went berserko when I came home to find him and his dog together on my couch amidst a shower of polyester stuffing. Without asking where the white stuff came from, I assumed the two of them had been playing tug-of-war with my sofa cushions and now the expensive piece of furniture was decimated. I screamed, "Arrgh! My couch is destroyed!! Do you know how much this damn thing cost me? Get that stinky, slobbering, snoring thing out of my house NOW!!!" and nearly had a conniption tossing pillows about, looking for the origin point of destruction. All the while, my sweet boyfriend stood by and watched, frowning and holding the now headless stuffed pink dog that he had brought over from his house for the dog to chew on. I apologized. He said he understood how it must've looked and promised to never play tug-of-war with his pooch on my furniture again.
Since oftentimes our comfort food of choice is pizza (yeah, I know, how original!), we headed straight to Anthony's in silence, expecting nothing but great food and a warm environment, sans overstuffed chairs. But what we also got, even though I know we didn't ask for it, were two tickets to the peep show. A 20-something couple, him tattooed from neck to ankle and her sporting a skirt so short that even Victoria couldn't keep her secret there, were so busy groping each other that they barely noticed the huge, steaming white pizza a server had just delivered. I stared with desire -- not at the couple, mind you, but at the beautiful piece of edible Italian art on the stand.
Thankfully my charred chicken wings arrived just in time to divert my eyes. I only got a small order since I expected to eat them alone. Not surprisingly, Mr. Persnickety is not a big fan of poultry served on the bone. But he agreed to try one bite when he heard me sing the praises of these marinated meaty tidbits, served with caramelized onions and wedges of focaccia. He also agreed to split a pizza with anchovies on half of it, so long as I guaranteed that none of the critters would even touch his side. Guess he felt really bad that I stroked out earlier that evening.
No, there would be no smooching after I downed half a pie covered in slimy, salty seafood, but there was plenty of sweet talk after the bill arrived. He even held my hand as we walked through the restaurant and gave me a big hug in the parking lot. Maybe I was too quick to judge; PDA and pizza isn't such a bad combination after all.
Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza has multiple locations throughout Palm Beach and Broward Counties. Visit anthonyscoalfiredpizza.com for a complete list of addresses and phone numbers.
Freelance writer Riki Altman eats everything that won't try and eat her first (with exceptions, of course) and dates younger men, older men, and older men who act like young men, along with locals, tourists, illegal aliens and just plain aliens. Love Bites is a compilation of what happens when her dining and dating ordeals collide. Sometimes, it just ain't pretty.